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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] HER…
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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] HER VANISHED LOVER. BY EDITH O. KENYON. Author of Which was the Heiress" The Hand oj his Brother, The Squire of Lonsdaledec. CHAPTER XVI. THE TABLES REVERSED. "You needn't look at me in that way, Jessie! Nor call me mother like that! iThank goodness, I'm no mother of yours cries Mrs. Eden, querulously, the muscles of her face working and her hands twitching her apron nervously. "I've a great deal to put up with jnsfc now, a very great deal. I'm that hurried you don't know And for you to ily out at me in this way 1 I won't have it I say I won't 1" Her voice grows louder as she says this until it is almost a scream. Jessie is silent. She dare not trust her- self to speak, but her look of indignation still rests upon the other's face, to its con- fusion. I don't know what you mean by looking at me like that," she mutters. "And then, for your father to be talking like that about chloroform. I don't know what he means!" But she becomes very red, her face quivers, and she looks as if she is going to cry. "Did you give him any?" asks Jessie, still keeping her eyes fixed on Mrs. Eden's face. Was that the reason ichy he slept so soundly last night ? she adds meaningly. The other starts, then almost in a frenzy, seizes hold of the girl's arm so tightly as to pain her. "What do you mean ? she asks. "Answer my question, please. Did you give him chloroform last night? Did you ? "Perhaps I had to do so-for some in- ternal pain," matters Mrs. Eden miserably. "Without bis knowledge?" demands Jessie. I was obliged. Don't speak so loud, girl, we sbaJJbe overheard. I was obliged to do it." She wrings her hands, looking utterly wretched. "You don't know everything, Jess, nor what drove me—yes, drove me to it—I was obliged." You gave it to him," says Jessie, looking very sternly at her step-mother, You gave it to him because you wanted to leave the room, go down into the cellar, get bread and meat, and then take it to someone outside, tinkneion to him." The ekier woman looks quite stunned and overwhelmed as she hears this. She turns very pale, says nothing and trembles vio- lently. She can bluster no longer: she has been found out. Jessie quietly takes off her apron, and xokling it up, lays it by on a shelf, lets down ner sleeves, and prepares to leave the dairy. Jess, Mrs. Eden catches hold of her hands, "Jess, what are you going to do ? I am going to tell my father everything," answers the girl, ° "YOII must; not. You shall not." "I must and I shall. His life is not safe with you. Jessie speaks gently but with great determination. ^'His life? What—what do you mean ?" You might easily have given him an overdose of chloroform; then he would have died. You would have killed him." "Nonsense!" Mrs. Eden makes an im- patient gesture. "I understand about chloroform well enough. I was house- keeper to a doctor once, and my master taught me how to give chloroform whilst he operated on patients. I have often done it." "No matter," says Jessie, sternly. "It was a criminal act to give it to father with- out his knowledge, or consent." "Yes, Jess, it was. I see that now, rejoins the other, humbly. I was so drove -1 hadn't time to think—but I see that now. Jess Jess she implores, you are not my own girl, and maybe I have been hard on .you—all that shall be altered—but when you was a little lass, wasn't I kind and good to you ? Certainly youwere. But that has nothing to do with what has just happened." I'm going to appeal to you, Jess," says her step-mother, very humbly, indeed quite abjectly, while the tears run down her face," and I pray you to listen for the sake of my -kindness to you when you was a child—do you remember that time you had the measles when I sat up with you all night and roasted apples for you, and made such a fuss as never was?" "J remember," says Jessie, strangely softened by the recollection. "I often thought of it when I was away." "I pray and beseech you, Jess, for the sake of that time, listen to me. You have in some way got to know what I was doing last night," as she speaks she glances fear- fully at the door, lest anyone might enter and overhear what she is saying. "It was absolutely necessary that I should do if. I was obliged to do it, and I could not if your father had not slept." Why? Would he have hindered it ? Yes, that he would. Even if the person I went out to succour had died. Your father is ha.rd on the poor. My word, he is that! "I have never known him hard on any- one." Well, I have. And if I had. begged him on my knees he would not have let me go out with food to the starving, as I went last night." Jessie is silent. It is no crime to feed the starving, even in the night time. She might have wanted to do it herself if she had known of the case. Mrs. Eden perceives her advantage and hurries ou rapidly. "It isn't as if I was robbing your father. All that he has is mine too, and I save what bit I give a hundred times over by pinching myself. Why, bless me! I hardly ever have a new gown. You know that, Jess, and I'm woman enough to like nice clothes. Your father never cares how I dress, and I never was one to go to church or chapel to show ofl my fit, cry- so if I choose to spend the money another way——" Its not that." says Jessie hastily. "I aon t blame you for giving away food to one wno needs iL, but it was so awfully wrong of you to put my dear father under the influence of mmiVi", en lays a trembling hand upon her Jfevir• 1 know>" says, "™d I'll live T'II1taSain- Never again, so long as I vour f-tlhpinfv1* Vi' •lf4.only you won't tell 5 out. lauiei of me this time." "But "Girl," interrupts Mrs. Eden, "if vou tel] him you il destroy our married happiness for ever. You'll have a magnificent revenue on me, you will, a truly magnificent revenge. Your father will never trust me again, never again. break his heart. He's not very strong, I tell you. He'll fall ill and die as sure as ally tWng if you 8operate us—it'll HIa .f'iplli?,ion you tell him—and he'll nh nn' i en 'iear1:' He's not very strong, YH 8 m.>fc the mau was harm wilh °ing him eyer so much harm with that- b Tp'oe^ifSvcm'1 McI.1imP]orG you- Oh, Jess, T'lfn'ever do'it ao £ "S^a^ou^ ^his time 111 ne\ ei cio il again, Never NV>vm> f T'U let all the world starve fiJt i ^ifSdeed and Mrs. liueti goes on imploring h £ step- daughter to have mercy and not reveal what she has discovered to anyone. Jessie is sorely troubled. She feels that she ought to acquaint her father with the Wrong that has been done him, that he may be on his guard against any similar danger in the future, yet.she knows well that, if she does so, it will plunge him into great unhap- piness. If a man cannot trust his own wife to whom shall he turn ? Where is he safe? What can he do? His whole life may be poisoned with suspicions, he will never know .what infamous blow may befftli And if Mrs. Eden keeps her vow and never dot s the like again, well, he is safe enough. But can she be trusted ? Who is to say whether she will keep it? "This is all very painful," begins Jessie. I must. have a little time to think. I cannot judge aright just now, I am too excited, and—and exhausted. I will think about it, and let you know my decision." "But when, Jess, when ? Think, do, what an agony of suspense I am in. Oh, Jess Jess! have mercy and the unhappy woman drops upon her knees before the girl. "I love my husband," she says. "I would not hurt a hair of his bead. I acted as I did from sheer necessity, knowing it could not hurt him, as I knew so well how to do it. But "You may think it is sheer necessity again," says Jessie, looking at her doubtfully. "No. rswear no necessity shall make me do it. I will cut off my right hand first. Oh, Jess, have mercy ?" Bewildered, dizzy with all this excitement after so much hard work, and not having tasted food this morning, Jessie wavers, and at last, thinks she will effect a compromise. "I will trust you," she says, "for one week. If you will keep your promise, and not do it during that week (after that we will have another talk about it.) I will not tell him for so long. That is all I will promise you just now. "Thank you. Thank you, Jess. You are a good girl," says Mrs. Eden, rising. Go and have some breakfast," she adds, you look that faint! I will finish this butter- making. I see you have taken off your apron." "I have," rejoins Jessie, "because I am not going to work in this dairy any more. If you will not engage a dairy-maid, I shall ask my father to do so "I'll engage one. I'll engage one. Is--is there anything else you'd like me to do, Jess?" "Several things but I will tell you about them later on." Jessie leaves the dairy with the feelings of a conqueror. Mrs. Eden can no longer tyrannise over her because the former's life's happiness is in her bands. It is a strange reversal of the position. And this continues during the week. Mrs. Eden endeavours to please Jessie in every possible way, studying her welfare and taking immense pains to propitiate her. A new dairymaid is engaged, who enters upon her duties at once. Jane is permitted to take Jessie a cup of tea before rising in the morning. Jessie's home duties are mostly transferred to Susan, who submits marvellously well to the arrangement. A hint from her mother sufficej7 to make the younger girl much easier to get on with, and Jessie is spared all friction on that side. Much to Mr. Eden's delight Jessie is now able to be his constant companion, accom- panying him in the fields and driving with him to Wakefield market, or playing and singing for him in the parlour by the hour together. Sometimes she only sits quietly by his side, helping him to smoke, as she calls filling and lighting his pipe, then talk- ing to him in her sweet, loving way while he smokes it. He is at these times supremely happy, and smiles upon her with great con- tent. Happiness is a great restorer of li cal. Lli he looks younger and brighter every day. Perhaps in part, however, the improve- ment in his health may be due to the fact that Mrs. Eden keeps her promise to Jessie and no longer uses chloroform as a weapon to ensure his sleeping, when she wishes to give alms by night. Jessie keeps close watch over her step- mother, often rising in the night, to creep to the door and listen if anyone is moving downstairs. But the result of all her watch- ing is only that she narrowly escapes catching cold and becomes convinced that Mrs. Eden has not broken her vow. At the end of a week therefore, the girl consents to be silent concerning the past, conditionally upon Mrs. Eden's never administering chloroform again. Things are so when two very unexpected occurrences take place. CHAPTER XVII. I TWO HUNDRED A TEAR. I "THERE'S a letter for you, Jess," says Susan, entering the front kitchen with it in I her hand, one morning in the early spring, just as Jessie is, kissing her father and I bidding him good-morning. "For Jessie! Why she never gets letters!" exclaims Dick. For me ?" says Jessie, and her heart gives a tell-tale leap, whilst the colour leaves her face for a few moments. Can it possibly be from Gerald? Has he found her address: Aii(t-Oli I what bliss the thought gives her, I —can he be writing to say he is coming ? Susan hands her the letter, with an in- quisitive stare at it as she does so. It is not from Slater unless his handwriting is dis- guised. Susan has seen his writing often- ) indeed she is quite familiar with it, having some of it just then in her pocket—and this I on the long business-like envelope is not at I all like his. The newly arrived letter is addressed in a clerkly hand to Miss Eden, Edenfield Farm, Eastham. It is perhaps a bill. Susan begins to wonder if Jessie is going to run up bills for her father and mother to pay. Jessie's hand shakes, as she takes hoW of the letter, the colour slowly returns to her cheeks, and her eyes are dim for a few moments. It; is not from Gerald Harcourt. She feels little interest in it now. "It will keep," she says, laying it down on the table beside her plate. "I will read it I afterwards," and she gives a little sigh a sue speaks. It is all so very disappointing. daresay ifc js a circular from a shop, tney do put penny stamps on them now, tney do put penny stamps on them now, uiaiiing^ them look for all the world like iei.fcers, says Mrs. Eden. "Have some bacon, Jessie ? You re eating nothing." 1 nariks. The girl passes her plate and begins to speak of something else. The breakfast proceeds as Isual. By-and- hy Dick rises from his seat at the table. He has eaten his breakfast hastily, with many sympathetic glances at Jessie, who is only toying with her food and pretending to eat. I must be off," he says, I'm going rabbit- shooting with some fellows this morning. We'll replenish your larder, mother." He is leaving the kitchen when he looks back to say carelessly, "Jess, I want your help a minute with this The remainder of his sentence is lost. Jessie, leaving her letter on the table, is about to follow him when a sudden thought causes her to return to her place and pick it up. Holding it in her hand she leaves the room. In the little hall Dick is standing, one gaiter on, the other in his hand. "See my new gaiters," he says. Do they match my clothes? Hang it/l I don't care a brass farthing whether they do or not. I only wished to assist you to get out of the sight of the others that you may read your letter. Now, not a word, run upstairs and enjoy it." "You dear old fellow! Jessie puts her arms round, his neck, and kisses him on the cheek. "But it isn't from Gerald," she adds, "though I'm just as much obliged to you, dear, for your thoughtful kindness." Dick looks disappointed. "There," lie says, you'll-spoil my collar. That'll do." And he shakes her off roughly but not unkindly. "I made sure it was a love letter," he adds to himself. "But stay," says Jessie, as he is turning away. It's not from him, but it may be about him. Wait a moment, and I will see." Thus^ admonished, Dick waits, employing h'mself with putting on the gaiter. A sudden exclamation from his sister makes him look up. Dick," she exclaims, "what ,do you think. This letter is from Mr. Dodson, Mrs. W ernei: s lawyer. He says lier wilj has been found. It had slipped behind a drawer in her cabinet, and the person who bought the cabinet at the sale found it, and con- siderately handed it over to the the lawyer." She pauses to read more to herself. Hurrah says Dick excitedly. and has she left you a fortune, Jessie mine? "Well, not quite that. But Mr. Dodson says she has left me in consols enough to provide me with an income of zC200 a year." "My dear, Jess! That's stunning I Why, how jolly independent you'll be I I con- gratulate you with all my heart I Yoicks I Hooray! Hooray!" Dick throws his cap up and catches it again, clasps his hands, stamps about and seems as if he cannot make too much noise. Of course he is heard in the front kitchen. "What's the matter?" cries Susan, open- ing the door and bursting in upon them in her rough manner. "Now, then, Dick! Don't you be a fool I What is it?" demands his mother. "Dick, my lad, keep calm," calls out the father from his place at the head of the table. Dick has seized hold of Jessie's hands now, and is shaking them both vigorously, in spite of her laughing protests. I con- gratulate you," says he loudly. I con- gratulate you! For you have now an inde- pendent income, without having to try and wrest it out of the crops and cattle, as have we poor farmers." "An independent income! Just hear that! says Susan, growing very red in the face. "My word, mother, Jessie's an heiress!" "What? An heiress? Has Mrs. Werner's will been discovered?" asks Mrs. Eden sourly, guessing the truth. "Yes," answers Jessie, as soon as Dick will let her speak. Yes, it has been found." "And has she left you all her money ?" "No, no. She has left some to her nep- hews and nieces. But she has kindly left me, her adopted child, about 9200 a year, being the interest of eight thousand pounds left in consols. Mr. Dodson says that is quite safe." "Two hundred a year! Good gracious! Well, you are a lady and no mistake I cries Mrs. Eden. "That does not make me a lady," says Jessie quickly. "Two hundred a year!" exclaims Susan enviously. My And what's that on the floor?" She snatches up a slip of coloured paper, on which Dick was just about to stand. "Why," she says, "It's a cheque for 250." "Oh, yes," says Jessie, "I forgot. 3'he lawyer, Mr. Dodson" says he is sending me a cheque for fifty pounds, that being the first quarter's interest, and he will send me £ 50 more in a few days." "Just look at that! Why, you're rich, Jessie!" Mrs. Eden's tone is indescribable. "It's not fair! cries Susan, whose face has been growing redder and redder; and she stamps on the floor as she speaks. It's not fair! You shall not have all that money You shall not! In a frenzy, she tears the cheque in two, and then again, throwing the fragments on the ground and j stamping on them. You sha'n't have that money at all events she shrieks. You little vixen Dick catches hold of her roughly. "Don't, Dick. Don't hurt her! She is but a child," pleads Jessie. "She doesn't understand. She has done no real harm. Mr. Dodson will send me another cheque for this one. I'll send the scraps of this one to him, and he will send me another. Don't cry, Susie dear, you haven't spoilt the money. There is no harm done." "Then I wish there was! I wish there was!" screams Susan. "I hate you Jess! I hate you! You get everything—every- thing,she repeats, stamping, "Looks! Education! Lovers! And now money! And I get nothing!" With a wail, she breaks away from Dick, and runs out of the house. "Oh, my child! my child!" sobs her mother, with her apron to her eyes. "Go after her, Dick, and bring her back. But be kind to her, be kind to her, lad. She's in sore trouble that you know nothing about." Dick, who is thoroughly good hearted, does not wait to hear more, but runs off after Susan. Mother dear," Jessie speaks very gently and kindly, I feared poor Susan was unhappy. She had a letter yesterday—I saw her reading it, with tears in her eyes. I am afraid it contained bad news." "Whist! Jess, whist I" Mrs. Eden looks apprehensively in the direction of the front kitchen, where her husband still sits at the breakfast table, with his face turned towards them. "Don't let your father suspect any- thing, Jess," says she. "Go and tell him about your money. That will please him rarely. And not a word about Sue, mind, not a word Jessie returns to her father, who is wait- ing impatiently to hear what all the talking and noise has been about, and tells him her good news, reading aloud the lawyer's letter, I to which he listens with much satisfaction. "Thank God 1 he says fervently and with great reverence, when he has heard all. "That will make you independent, my Jessie, independent for life. Mrs. Werner was a good woman and true," he adds, she did not do things by halves." "No, indeed. She was most thoughtful and generous," Jessie says, delighted that no longer the least slur rests upon her dear friend's character. "I felt certain of her good intentions toleavemeindependent she breaks off abruptly, and then continues, "I only wondered that no will could be found. although we searched most diligently for it." "My word, Jessie," exclaims Mrs. Eden, entering with her arms akimbo, whatever will you do with so much money? I reckon you'll leave us poor folks now, and go and live in London among your fine friends ? Jessie looks up startled. There is a cer- tain eagerness in her step-mother's tone and manner. The girl is certain that her de- parture is desired. "But you won't do that Jessie mine," cries her father solicitously. "You won't leave me, will you?" and he places his hand affectionately upon her shoulder. "My dear, this will be an ill windfall if it parts thee and nie I he adds, with emotion. In an instant Jessie makes up her mind. "Why, dad," she says, smiling reassuringly into his dear old face, could you think it possible for a moment ? "La! Now. you don't mean fco say, Jess, that you'll stay here at home, living on us these hard times, and eatin' the bread of idleness when you've all that money "Whist, woman! whist! How dare you speak like that to a child of mine?" Mr. Eden rises to his feet, looking majestic in his righteous anger. He raises his right hand commandingly. "Never," he says, regarding his wife with stony eyes, "never, as long as you live—■—" His words fail him, he grows very red in the face, and passing his hand across his brow, endeavours to recollect what he was going to say. Alarmed at his appearance, Jessie attempts to induce him to sit down again and say no more about the matter, declaring he must have misunderstood her step-mother's meaning. Mrs. Eden, looking frightened, hurries away, that her presence may not agitate him any more. To provide against con- tingencies, she goes to fetch a glass of cold water from the pump in the yard. "Jessie," falters Me. Eden, staring into vacancy, with dazed eyes. "Jessie, I'm ill— can't remember—all is confused—I see flashes of light—they come and go. Jessie, never leave me!" he clutches hold of her con- vulsively. Dad, darling,. I never,vyill I she answers, soothingly. 61 I'm ill I God I" with a cry to the Almighty on his lips, the old man falls back helplessly into his armchair. (To be continued.)
I THE QUEEN DINES FOR UD"
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I THE QUEEN DINES FOR UD" SURPRISE VISIT TO THE ALEXANDRA TRUST. The Queen, who takes a deep interest in the Alexandra Trust Dining Rooms, in the busy London thoroughfare in the City-road—named after her-paid a surprise visit to the institution on the 24th inst., as she did in 1900. A rumour had been circulated that the visit might be paid, but Sir Thomas Lipton alone had been definitely informed of the fact; and of the time at which her Majesty would arrive. At it was the Queen's wish to see the dining-rooms and diners under normal conditions, the wish was respected. Her Majesty was accompanied by Princess Victoria, and attended by the Hon. Charlotte Knollys, Lord de Grey, General Sir Disrhton Probyn, Lieutenant-Colonel Frederick, and the Hon. Sidney Greville. Lady de Grey also accom- panied her Majesty. The Royal party drove down in two plain carriages without escort, and reached the Trust at about 12.40. They were received at the main entrance by Sir Thomas Lipton ana Colonel Knollys. The Queen went to the counter, and asked for tickets for eight dinners at 4id., and tendered half-a-crown in payment; but the, young lady clerk, unaware of her identity, pointed out that the money was 6d. short, and, as the Trust holds irmly to the "no trust" rule, she declined to issue the full number, of passes while the money tendered was insufficient. Sir Thomas Lipton asked her to "give over the eight tickets," but, to the Queen's intense amusement, the girl was only partially reassured, and did not execute the order until Lord de Grey came forward and gravely handed over the balance. Of course the identity of the Royal visitors quickly became known, and they were cheered with true East-end heartiness wherever they appeared. The Queen first made a thorough inspection of the ground- floor, which is reserved for men, and where hundreds were having an a la carte dinner from 3d. per head. All the members of the Royal party were impressed by the plentiful quantity and apparently excellent quality of the fare. They passed up by the lift to the first floor, where women and children were being catered for; and her Majesty was much struck by the happy and respectable appearance of the great majority of the factory girls who were dining on this floor. The Queen saw two little girls crying because ther had lost their tickets, and promptly supplied them with the necessary cash to make good the loss. Both the Queen and the Princess spoke kindly to many of the children and girls. They asked the latter if they were well provided for at the Trust dining-rooms, and were assured that they were. Ascending by the lift to the next floor, the Roycl visitors and suite inspected the kitchens, and saw the various operations for preparing food in progress. At the Queen's request a girl "cleaned" a basket of potatoes while they watched, and, with the aid of a electric peeler, the girl had the vegetables ready for the saucepan in exactly "ninutes. The Royal party repaired to manager's little room to dine. It is upholstered in a restful shade of green, and on the table were a table- cloth and three vases of fresh roses. Otherwise they fared exactly as ordinary diners of the 41 d. class. The Queen sat at the head of the table, and the other diners, given in the order in which they sat from her Majesty's right, were Kir Thomas Lipton, Lady de Grey, Colonel Frederick, Lord de Grey, the Hon. Sidney Greville, the Hon. Charlotte Knollys, Sir Dighton Probyn, Princess Victoria, :md Colonel Knollys. The "china," all stamped Alexandra Trust," the cutlery, the metal pepper-boxes, and, indeed, all appliances were exactly the same as were being supplied to the poorest of the diners. The Royal party began with ox-tail soup with bread, took roast lamb and mint sauce as a second course, had two vegetables (only one was specified in the bill), and finished with pkiin pudding. The Queen took Apollinaris water a, with her dinner, and the whole party afterwards drank coffee out of thick Trust cups. It should be mentioned that the Queen had seen the "special" dinner on the second floor, but the charge for this amounts to the extravagant sum of 5d. The visitors spoke in the highest terms of the excellence of the food, of the cooking, and of the general arrangements.
FAMOUS WRITER DEAD.
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FAMOUS WRITER DEAD. TOET AND JOURNALIST WHO MARRIED A JAPANESE WIPE. J Sir Edwin Arnold, author of the "Light of Asia," Sanskrit scholar, and journalist, died on the 24th inst., at the age of seventy-one. Sir Edwin might be said to have been destined, almost from his cradle, to the literary life. Firom his earliest years he studied b, preferring them to the ordinary playthings of youth. In his early days the East had enthralhs-d- him, and it was one of his dreams to travel in thos-a countries which attracted him with such powerful fascina- tion. The result of his patient studies and keen observation was seen in the many works which issued from his ready pen, but it is with his great work, "The Light of Asia," that his namp will always be inseparably connected. This famous poem passed through sixty editions in England and eighty in America. In 1861 he returned to England for a rest, after experienc- ing some of the terrors of the Indian Mutiny. Then it was that, almost by accident, began his famous connection with the "Daily Telegraph." Sitting fishing from a punt one day, his eye alighted on an advertisement in the "Athenceum" for a leader-writer, and instantly he thought of applying for the post. He was appointed and plunged at once into the maelstrom of Fleet- street. It is estimated that he contributed no fewer than 10,000 leading articles to his journal. It was during Sir Edwin Arnold's prolonged stay in Tokio that he met the charming Japanese lady who became his second wife. She was a fascinat- ing girl, named Tama- Kurokawa, which means in English, "Jewel of the Dark River," and she was famous in Tokio as a beauty. The feminine charm, the dainty and piquant dress, and the captivating manners of Japanese women, appealed strongly to Sir Edwin's artistic temperament. It was a happier marriage than many thought. Sir Edwin's love for his young partner was no mere passing fancy, her womanly qualities, and the interest and devotion she always showed in r husband, made this romantic match far m an unwise one. Automobiles in Denmark are to be used for joining up a number of outlying districts, and a company is to start with seventy cars and a ten- years' concession for working the roads where railways do not now exist. t, The world's consumption of emery is 25,000 tons annually, of which Asia Minor supplies some 18,000 tons, valued at £ 53,000 Canada^ 388 tons, valued at £ 10 914; and Naxos, 6.328 tons, valued at £26,830. It is not generally known that the remains of all the Czars of Russia since Peter the Great lie in a memorial chapel built on one of the islands of the Neva. All the cenotaphs are exactly alike, each being a block of white marble, without- any decoration whatever. The only distinction by which each is marked is the name of the deceased Emperor. York Castle Military Prison is undergoing considerable alterations, in the course of which one of the stone walls has been found to be so hard that it required twelve charges of dyna- mite to remove it. Some of the old cells, wnich were very small, being only 320 c-ub. ft. in area, were composed to six solid blocks of stone, one for each wall, and one each for the floor and ceiling. The new cells that are being con- structed will give about 700 cub. ft. space, but this is still less than the regulation size. Eighty people who lived .in a block of build- ings in "New York owe their lives to a twelve- year-old boy. Awakened by smoke he fought his way, with his baby sister wrapped in a piece of carpet, down four flights of stairs through flame and smoke, and gave the alarm io the other residents. All got out safely, although the boy himself was badly burned. In Nagasaki (Japan) there is a firework maker who manufacturers pyrotechnic birds of great size that, when exploded, sail in a life-like man- ner through the air and perform many move- ments exactly like those of living birds. The secret of making these wonderful things has been in the possession of the eldest child of the family each generation for more than 400 years.
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Johnny: "Pa, gimme threepence to go to the Bashy Bazooks." Pa: "No, my son, you mustn't go there this week. The show ain't fit to be seen." Johnny "How do you know?" Pa: "Ain't I been there .'VeI'Y ni-I mean a friend of tqld pie so,"
I HOfE HINTS.
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I HOfE HINTS. Deep-breathing exercises, through the nostrils— never the mouth—should be practised by every woman night and morning. At least ten deep in- halations of fresh air should be taken upon or before rising, and the same before going to bed. One deep breath slowly inhaled and expelled, be- sides purifying the blood, exercises no fewer tlisn 147 different muscles I COLD FEET.—Soak the feet ten minutes in hot water every day. Dry them well, and rub slightly with vaseline. Change your shoes and stockings frequently. No girl can expect a nice clear skin if she uses common soap. She should also remember that what suits one person's skin will not suit another's. Highly-scented soap should be avoided, and if only common soaps can be had use a little fine oatmeal instead; this never hurts the tenderest skin. To REMOVE TEA STAINS FROM LINEN.— Before each article is washed, and when it is quite dry, rub the tea stains well with good soap. The stains will have disappeared when the cloth is washed. To REMOVE FRUIT STAINS FROM LINEN.— Rub the stained part on each side with yellow soap, and then tie up in the linen a piece of pear- la-sli. Dail the linen, and afterwards bleach in the sun and air until all marks are removed. To CLEAN RuSTY STOVEs.-Scrape the stove with an old knife to remove the top rust, then rub dOIYn with emery or glass paper. After this polish in the uSful way by well brushing the stove with blackk-ad mixed with oil of tar. To REMOVE LONG-STANDING PAINT.—Cleanse the windows first with^benzoline, and then take a piece of soap steeped in water and clean it again. Scrape the paint with a penny, with an even edge, which will leave the window quite clear. To MAKE FLANNELETTE NON-INFLAMMABLE.— After flannelette articles have been washed they should be rinsed in water in which one ounce of alum or salammoniac has been dissolved. This little precaution may be the means of saving many- little lives. SIMPLE REMEDY FOR BURNS.—Dip a piece of linen in sweet oil and cover the burn at once with it. Do not remove the linen until the burn is quite healed, but always keep it moistened with the oil, which must be allowed to soak through from tile outside of the linen. To PREVENT WINDOWS STICKING. Many windows fail to move up and down in damp weather, and the following remedy has been very successfully tried. Rub the sides of the window frames where the sash cords are with a cake of blacklead, and the result should be to mak the windows slide very easily up and down. To KEEP KNIVES IN GOOD CONDITION.—When knives are not in use keep them in a box of sifted quicklime, with the blades covered up to the handle. They may also be kept wrapped in tissue paper and placed in green baize bags, with a division for each blade. Expose ivory or bone- handled knives to the air to prevent them turning yellow. CREAM PANCAKES.—Take rather more than a pint of cream, the yolks of six and the whites of four eggs, five spoonfuls of best flour, adding a small pinch of salt. Mix the batter very smoothly and lightly. Fry in butter, taking eare that tbey are thin, not thick, and sift a little castor sugar over each. Pile half-a-dozen on a plate, and serve hot. CURO PUFFS.—Take two quarts of milk, turn t, press from it the whey, and rub through a sieve. Take the crumb of half a roll, or a thick slice of stale white bread, a little sugar, lemon juice, cinnamon, or nutmeg to flavour, as liked, 4oz. of butter and two spoonfuls of cream. Mix I well, and bake in moulds or sponge cake cups. I CHEESECAKES.—Take three quarts of milk, turn it, break the curd, and drain the whey; when dry, rub smooth with 2oz. of butter. Flavour with sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, &c., as preferred, add 2 or 3oz. of currants well washed and dried, and a pint and a half of new milk. Bake in moulds or patty pans. CHEESE PUFFS.—Strain a basin full of cheese curd from the whey, beat it smooth and fine, add the yolks of three and white of one egg. a spoonful and a halt of flour, sugar and lemon juice to taste. Make into small round cakes, and bake for fifteen to twenty minutes on tin plates. MACCARONI PUDDING. Take 2oz. of pipe maccaroni and boil in a pint of milk gently until well done, flavour with lemon and cinnamon. Lay in a dish, and pour over a sweet custard. Allow it to cool, when serve. OLD-FASHIONED FURMENTY OR FRUMITY.— To a quart of boiled wheat add two quarts of new milk by degrees, and 4oz. of currants washed and dried; stir together and boil until done. Beat lightly the yolks of three eggs, add two spoonfuls of milk and a little grated nutmeg, and put to the wheat before removing from the fire, sweeten with sugar to taste. Pour into a deep dish, and serve warm or cold,. as best liked.—"Elaine," in the Agricultural Gazette." ORANGE MARMALADE.—Seville oranges are the II best for this, but any ordinary sort will suit, pro- vided they are not too sweet. The usual propor- tions are Iflb. of sugar and one quart of water to each pound of fruit. Cut the oranges into quarters, remove the pulp, and place the peels in salt water for about 21 hours. Carefully take all seeds and skin away from the fruit, which must be put aside, closely covered until the rinds are ready. After having soaked for the I required time in the brine, the peels must be boiled (in spring water if procurable) until they are tender enough to be pierced easily with the head of a pin, well drained and cut into very thin slices. Break the loaf sugar into small pieces and allow it to dissolve in a fourth of the water; place the remainder with the frnit on the fire and boil rapidly for 20 minutes; add the sugar and sliced peel, and boil again gently for about half an hour until it becomes transparent. Turn into glass jars, tie down, and store in a cool place. ANOTHER MRTHOD. Boil the fruit and sugar together without the addition of water; I-lib of best loaf sugar to each pound of pulp, the peels I being previously prepared as in preceding recipe. This marmalade keeps better, but is not so economical, nor to some so palatable, as the first. It must be stirred all the time and boiled gently until the fruit and peels are quite clear. PRESERVED SLICED ORANGES.—Boil the fruit whole for 15 minutes; allow it to become cold, then cut across in thin slices; remove the seeds without breaking the fruit; place it in a porcelain pan and cover it with clarified syrup let it stand two dans. Pour off the syrup, which will have become thin, and add to it sufficient sugar to thicken ifc; boil it until clear, skim well, and when cold pour it over the slices. This process must be ae- peated four or five times, always adding more sugar to the syrup; finally, fruit and syrup must be boiled together for 20 minutes before being placed carefully in pots and tied down. This pre- I serve is much appreciated and makes a very pretty dessert dish. Where any additional flavouring is desired a few drops of essence of ginger or cin- namon will be found suitable. CLARIFIED SYRU. -To prepare this. beat up the white of one egg in one pint of water dissolve it in l^lb. of best loaf sugar, place on the fire in a preserving pan, and stir until it boils; draw it aside, but do not allow it to cease boiling, and add slowly a breakfastcupful of cold water, which will cause the impurities to rise to the top. Boil for a few minutes longer, then strain carefully through a coarse linen cloth, when it is ready for use.- "Myra," in the Gardener." oJ
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There is no \ielp for the lady who can't keep a servant.
1 POPULAR SCIENCE. I
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1 POPULAR SCIENCE. I AN INCH OF RAIN. I Few people can form a definite idea of what is involved in the expression "an inch of rain." An acre is equal to 6,272,640 square inches; an inch deep of water on this area will be as many cubic inches of water, which, at 277.274 to the gallon, makes 22,622.5 gallons. This quantity weighs 226,255 lb., or about 101 tons. One hundredth of an inch (0.01 inch) of rain is equal, therefore, to one ton per acre. PASSCNTT OF THE PREHISTORIC GLACIER. According to experts who have been studying the question, the death and total extinction of the prehistoric glaciers is only a matter of time. In the Dauphine Alps seventeen main glaciers have been under close observation since 1890, and all have shrunk steadily diying the period, some of them as much as fiffy feet a day. How SIR ISAAC BOILED His EGG. Sir Isaac Newton's servant went into his study one morning with a fresh egg for his breakfast. Her master, being deep in thought, desired her to leave the egg, saying he would cook it himself when he was ready. She told him to let it boil for three minutes. Half an hour afterwards she returned to "clear away the things," and was more than amazed to see Sir Isaac leaning against the mantelpiece and gazing steadily at the egg in his hand, while his watch was boiling in the saucepan. OIL ON THE WATERS. The sponge fishers of Florida make great use of oil for the purpose of calming the surface of the water. During the greater part of the year the slight ripple on the water is easily overcome by that time-honoured device, the water telescope. By the aid of that instru- ment the fishers easily discern the sponges and hook them up from the bottom. But it some- times happens in the spring that the roughness of the sea prevents the use of hooks and teles- copes. Then the sponger throws a little oil upon the waves, which produces a calm about his boat as long as he cares to drift about with it. The oil preferred by the spongers for this purpose is obtained from the liver of the "nurse" shark. So effective is this oil con- sidered that as much as four shillings a gallon is paid for it. This species of shark abounds in the vicinity of the Florida, reefs, and is very easily captured. WHY THE SEA IS SALT. The saltness of the sea varies in different places. For instance, the waters of the Mediter- ranean contain more salt than those of the Atlantic, while the saltness of the Dead Sea is altogether exceptional. A careful analysis of it gave about two pounds of salt to one gallon of water. As a rule—though there are excep- tions-the sea. is less salt towards the poles than at the equator. And again, in many places the sea is less salt at the surface than at the bottom. And, of course, the saltness lessens near the mouths of great rivers. As far as man is con- cerned, this saltness of sea water has two great advantages. In the first place, the density of the I water is increased thereby, and the sea is thus adapted for bearing ships and other objects on its bosom. Anyone who has tried swimming both in fresh and salt water will remember how different the two are in buoyancy and in such waters as the Dead Sea, the Great Salt Lake of Utah, or Lake Urumia in Persia—all of them six times as salt as the ocean—the human body is floated so buoyantly that the swimmer can hardly get any grip of the water at all. Secondly, these salts which the sea holds in solution make it the great cleanser and purifier of the world. "The water which evaporates from the sea," says Youman, in his "Chemistry," "is nearly pure, containing very minute traces of salts. Falling as rain upon the land, it washes the soil, per- colates through the rocky layers and becomes charged with saline substances, which are borne seaward by the returning currents- The ocean, therefore, is the great depository of all substances I that water can dissolve and carry down from the surface of the continents and as there is no channel for their escape, they would constantly accumulate were it not for the creatures which inhabit the seas, and utilise the material thus accumulate were it not for the creatures which inhabit the seas, and utilise the material thus brought within their reach." HOW TO TAKE A MAN'S WAISTCOAT OFF WITH- OUT REMOVING HIS COAT. This may seem unreasonable, as in performing it neither the coat -)or vest may be torn or dam- aged, nor may eitner arm be removed from the sleeve of the coat. The person whose waistcoat has to be removed should be the wearer of a coat the sleeves of which are sufficiently large at the wrist to admit of the hand of the operator being passed up through them. Any person undertaking to perform the puzzle should first request some one of the company to remove his coat, and to replace it by a light spring overcoat; this being done, it will be easy to carry out the following instructions:—The waistcoat should first be unbuttoned in the front, and then the buckle at the back must be unloosened. The operator, standing in front of the person operated upon, should then place his hands underneath the coat at the back, taking hold of the bottom cf the waistcoat-, at the same time requesting the wearer to extend his arms at full length over his head. Now raise the bottom part of the waist- coat over the head of the wearer (if the waist- coat be tight it will be necessary to force it a little) the waistcoat will then have been brought to the front of the wearer, across his chest. Take the right side bottom-end of the waistcoat, and I put it into the arm-hole of the coat at the shoul- I der, at the same time putting the hand up the sleeve, seizing the end, and drawing it down the sleeve this action will release one arm-hole of the garment to be removed. The next thing to be done is to pull the waistcoat back again out of the sleeve of the coat, and put the same end of the waistcoat into the left arm-hole of the coat, again putting the hand up the sleeve of the coat as before, and seizing the end of the gar- ment. It may then be drawn quite through the sleeve, and the puzzle is accomplished. AN UNDISCOVERED DISCOVERER. Something was wanted to prevent photographs which were distinctly visible in the dark from turning black when exposed to light. All the great scientific men were for the time beaten. Sir Humphrey Davy, the inventor of the miner's safety-lamp, failed to get over the difficulty while Daguerre, the French artist, who had al- ready done a great deal for photography, was still experimenting without success. At an optician's in Paris, one day, a poorly-dressed and famished- looking youth inquired the price of a camera that was to be seen in the window. The sum named was far too fiigh for the pocket of the lad, and, as fus face showed the disappointment he felt, the* shopkeeper, out of curiosity, asked why the the instrument was wanted. The youth replied that he had succeeded in solving the difficulty already mentioned, but that he wished to get a new and better camera in order to continue his experiments. At this the optician laughed, and asked the young inventor if he knew that ail the attempts made by many well-known scientific men had failed. In answer to this, the lad pulled out from his pocket a piece of paper on which was a view of Paris, at the same time remarking "This is what I can obtain." The astonished shopkeeper proceeded to question the stranger on the discovery, and at last obtained from him R little bottle containing some liquid which would bring about the desired result. The youth then I, left, promising to call on the following day. AS soon as he had gone, the optician attempted to follow the instructions given to him with the phial, but without any success whatever. The re-appearance of the stranger was looked forward to anxiously, but nothing was ever again seen or heard of him. Daguerre in time accomplished the task but there can be little doubt that the unknown and ill-clad youth was really the first to discover the secret of making a photograph permanent.